


when you think that you're bereft

by chryysaskk



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode 6 fix-it because of course it is, First Kiss, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hugs, Jaskier has a bit of a breakdown but they work it out, Light Angst, M/M, The Coast™, self-indulgent cause i need them to be happy please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24392041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chryysaskk/pseuds/chryysaskk
Summary: And so the sea asked; may I take you?And I replied; there’s not much of me left.Yet the sea whispered; I will love you,Even if you think that you’re bereft.Sometimes forgiveness is all one has left to give. Sometimes it's not.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 172





	when you think that you're bereft

**Author's Note:**

> as an official geraskier shipper it was my duty to write the Coast™ so here we go again  
> also no i wont stop using TAD titles for my fics, this one's from the rockrose and the thistle  
> finally i made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/66C2BPGk9pTJFcqvJPA3Ai?si=51vsQAH4QBWOhorba0IHVQ) if you want to check out for your personal emotional crisis and only
> 
> kudos or comments are wholeheartedly appreciated if you reach the end <3

It was a good idea, after all, heading to the coast. From the moment it had gotten inside his head, Jaskier had decided not to let it go. He hadn’t been openly enthusiastic about it though, he knew being subtler than he usually was would gain him more possibilities of Geralt indulging in yet another one of his whims. They were on the road anyway; a different path would do no harm, just to get away. A break.  
  
So there he was now, sitting with his back rested against the smooth surface of a rock as he was gazing at the sea, his fingers absently strumming the strings of his lute and his feet spread and crossed to reach the water. Gods, he could talk for hours about how much he loved the sea. He loved the peacefulness that dominated the subtle crashing of waves on the rocks and the tender way they covered the sand, leaving behind spots of foam as they drew back. Coming and going, just like that, leaving wet stains, as a promise to return. He loved the breeze. Oh, the breeze made him feel twenty years younger as it fondled his face and shuffled his hair, as though sensing his hunger for touch and reaching to him. Blowing away all the sorrows darkening his mind. And he loved the afternoon sun that was reflected on the vast blueness of the ocean, like a vibrant lover that mirrors their joyfulness and effervescence in the eyes of a moderate partner who darkens when their love is gone. Hours and hours of talking. He loved the sea.  
  
But no one would hear him even if he talked now and the air beside him suddenly felt empty. A lump came up his throat for a moment but then shook his head slightly, as though returning his mind to his body. He didn’t like the way his thoughts slipped so easily and arbitrarily to an entirely different and yet exceptionally specific matter in no time. He preferred them composed and tucked away in a corner until he decided to use them for a particular purpose. Otherwise, they would burn him alive. No, he couldn’t talk. He could sing, though. And what a glorious song it would make.  
  
He squinted slightly in thought and softly strummed the strings.

  
  
  
  
_And so the sea asked; may I take you?  
And I replied; there’s not much of me left.  
Yet the sea whispered; I will love you,  
Even if you think that you’re bereft._

  
  
  
  


“Is that a new one?”  
  
The voice was low and hesitant as if it didn’t want to be heard, yet it echoed like thunder in his ears the moment the words floated with the breeze. He startled and turned his head abruptly to see a white-haired man standing some meters away half-hidden behind a rock and looking at him, his head tilted as though in compliance. Jaskier felt the lump returning to his throat but his lips managed to quiver to a faint smile as he placed the lute beside him with shaking fingers and stood with his feet in the water. He swallowed.  
  
“Geralt.” His voice came out a bit thick and he cleared his throat silently, feeling his parts going numb. Gods, if only he could take his eyes off him, instead of letting every emotion buried in him be reflected on his stare. Yet he had missed him, he had missed him too much to be selfish now. Too much to remember why he had been in the first place.  
  
Geralt looked at him for a moment longer and then lowered his eyes to avoid his sharp gaze. Because, oh, it was sharp. Even if it didn’t want to be. Even if it never was when directed at him. Sharp, and lingering, and hurt. Like a dagger being pushed deeper in his heart, like a sober voice screaming _‘guilty!’_ with each second passing. He snorted and parted his lips as if whatever he was going to say mattered at all. “The song you were playing–”  
  
“I just came up with it,” Jaskier cut him off instinctively and then he bit his lip. Because it didn’t matter at all. The light breeze blowing on his face made him shiver, or he thought, _hoped_ it was the breeze anyway. He shrugged to cover up his loss of words. He'd never been at loss for words and now it was not time for new experiences. Yet his tongue was tied. “What are you…” _If you’re going to break my heart again, leave at once, for its pieces are still scattered_. No. Not like this. And then, “It’s been…” _Ten months and fifteen days._ He swallowed. “A while,” he said out loud as if to hide how pretentious he sounded, as if they didn’t both know how long it had been  
  
_Twenty-two years, ten months and fifteen days_. Every thought tucked in that specific corner in his mind was popping out like flowers on a spring field, watered by pain and longing and love, oh, enough love to water a whole forest. And he was in the middle, drowning and refusing to be saved yet again.  
  
“It’s a nice one,” muttered Geralt, still referring to the song, because what else could he be talking about? His fists were clenching and unclenching on his sides as he searched with his eyes around the coast for a salvation that wouldn’t come. The breeze blew once more, as if pushing the words out of his mouth. And he turned his look again on the bard, standing still as a marble across him, and he cleared his throat. “Jaskier, I…”  
  
_Dammit, Jaskier!_  
  
_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!_  
  
_Ungrateful. Heartless. A witcher._  
  
That was not right. It couldn’t be. Jaskier, of all people, had known Geralt like the back of his hand. Had loved Geralt more than he ever thought a human being could love. So he had no right to blame him.  
  
_You have loved a witcher. Reckless. You have forgiven him again. Weak._  
  
Was he weak?  
  
“Damn you, Geralt.” He felt his eyes burning and his heart beating so violently it might as well escape his chest and drown at the sea. It would save him much trouble if he had to be honest. But then he saw Geralt tilting his head and he saw his amber eyes gazing at him as if no other sight existed in the world and he felt his knees aching to give in. The witcher took a step forwards.  
  
“I didn’t…” He snorted frustrated with himself for losing his words when it was no time for silence and grunted. “Fuck, I didn’t mean it, Jask–“  
  
“ _I know_ , Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice broke as he called his name and Geralt halted as noticed tears hanging on the corners of his eyes. Jaskier huffed to choke a sob and spread his arms exasperated. “I fucking know! That’s the bloody problem! You never mean it, and I always know, and I always ignore, and I always forgive, and sometimes I wish I didn’t, because every time I forgive you I give away more and more of myself and I _so_ wish I cared for that, but I don’t give a fucking damn, because I love you so much I would give up my whole being just to know that you’re content, even if that means I’m out of your life! And so,” uncontrollable sobs were now shaking him whole, “take it, once more, take my forgiveness and take that last part of me too, because I have nothing else left for you here. I really…” He tried to clear his voice, the lump in his throat choking him mercilessly. “I really hope you’re at least content now. That’s all I ask. And I–I’m sorry I can't offer you more. Take them and leave once again, Geralt. Leave at once. But, please,” he shook his head as he pleaded, “don’t make _me_ walk away again. I can’t pretend to be selfish anymore.”  
  
Yes, he was weak.  
  
But he felt nothing. He just let his shoulders shake comfortlessly with each sob and the tears flow like rivers down his face. He looked at Geralt once again and smiled at his widened eyes, and his parted lips unable to utter a word and his hands hanged and trembling. He smiled, even though it felt more like a wince. Love. That’s what he felt. What was left. But he didn’t know where to put it.  
  
So he turned his back and made some steps forwards, the waves crashing at his feet. It was probably the last time he saw Geralt, he knew. He knew that when he turned to look again, he would be gone. And it was fine. He had no more heart to give to him now. Nothing that he guiltily kept to himself. He was happy now. And he was bereft.  
  
So he gave up.  
  
Only that he did not. Because a firm grip made him stumble back and before he knew it he was buried in Geralt’s chest with his arms tightly around him. He was still shaking whole, he was still crying, yet now he had somewhere to lean on and his tears had a shirt to wet, and his head a shoulder to rest. So he buried his face in Geralt’s neck and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and he cried and cried and cried until his eyes were swollen and dried up from tears and his body was numb and tired. And yet the arms around him never loosened.  
  
Geralt rested his cheek on his head and nuzzled in his hair, letting a shaky sigh of relief escape his lips. Relief, and regret, and content. Jaskier felt him kissing his head and the arms around him tightened even more.  
  
“I love you too, Jaskier.” He shivered slightly and raised his head, his eyes glinting, only to find himself inches apart from Geralt’s face. Geralt smiled tenderly and wiped one last tear flowing down his face. “I love you and every part of you, and I will love you more if you’ll let me, because you mean to me so much more than your forgiveness. _So_ much more.”  
  
His hand was still cupping Jaskier’s face as Jaskier chuckled and shook his head, wasting no time as he pressed their lips together and kissed him and, gods, he’d spend half of his life imagining about this and it was even better, because the kiss was slow, and loving, and gentle, and he felt his whole being giving in to it with a low moan as he buried his fingers in Geralt’s hair, shuffled by the sea breeze, and Geralt sighed, and the sun was warming their necks and the waves were splashing their clothes. And when they parted breathless Geralt’s amber eyes were shining like gold and he was still smiling and, oh, Jaskier loved him so much he could barely stand on his feet.  
  
“Of course I will let you, you big, soft oaf.” He giggled and placed a playful kiss on his nose. “Of course I will let you.”


End file.
